


A Break

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [44]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Birthday, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, New York City, domestic abuse, grandpastiltkin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple and Belle spend their week in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter notes: Henry asks his grandfather a difficult question and Neal has some news.
> 
> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

“Is Belle your girlfriend?” Henry asked, narrowing his eyes at his grandfather and looking very suspicious. Rumple could only be glad that Belle hadn't followed them to Henry's room; if she'd been there to see him blush and stammer it would only make things worse.

Bae, however, didn't seem to understand the gravity of the question and laughed at his son. “Nah, Henry, Belle is my friend. Your grandpa only gave her a ride here.”

He went back to rearranging things in Henry's closet to make space for Rumple's clothes, as if the subject was now over and done with. But Henry didn't look convinced, and still regarded his grandfather as if waiting to hear it from his lips.

“She's a friend, Henry,” he finally managed to say. “She's your dad's friends. And my friend. She just needed a ride. And I'm married, if you recall.”

Rumple pointed at the wedding ring on his left hand.

Henry shrugged at it.

“Grandma never comes to these things,” he said.

“Yes, well,” Rumple answered, with practiced dismissiveness. Over the years, Milah had only been brought up in conversation a couple of times, and Bae was always the one to handle it, keeping things as vague as possible. He didn't know just how much Henry understood of their situation, but the boy was bound to know things were, at the very least, unusual.

“My friend Ava's grandparents got divorced,” Henry said, conversational. “Now her grandfather is dating his secretary. She's young, too.”

Bae laughed again. “You hear that, old man? There's chance for you still.”

“Very funny.”

“Though the secretary is older than Belle, from what I heard.”

 _Of course she is_ , Rumple thought, pained.

“There,” Bae announced. “I don't think it will be enough, but you can move some things to my study when Belle leaves on Sunday.”

“No need. You know me, I pack lightly.”

“You pack an absurd amount of shirts and shoes, is what you do.”

“Mom says you pack like a girl,” Henry told him.

Rumple rolled his eyes. “Your mother thinks she can survive an entire month on the contents of a backpack, Henry. I don't think she's an authority on the issue.”

“True,” he agreed. “How old is Belle?”

“What?”

“Like, since she's younger than the secretary?”

 _Younger than your father_.

“God, Henry, I don't know!” he lied. “And don't you ask her that. It's very rude.”

“Why?”

“Because women don't like it when we ask their age.”

“Why?”

“Henry, why don't you go take the potatoes out of the fridge?” Bae said. “So that we can get started on the cooking.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is it too late to take the couch?” Rumple asked, as the boy left the room. “I thought I'd be sharing a bedroom with my loving grandson, not an FBI interrogator.”

“Yeah, sorry. The whole Ava thing is putting ideas in his head. But then again, he _is_ a writer, isn't he?”

“Worries me, the kind of story he might write someday.”

“You're a grumpy grandpa, aren't you?” Bae said, tough he sounded amused.

“I just spent eight hours inside a car and my leg is killing me. I'm allowed to feel grumpy.”

“Then maybe I should tell you this now, so that you'll have time to get used to the idea.”

“The idea of what?”

“August is coming to my birthday dinner.”

His father grimaced. “Oh, lord, not the _peacock_!”

“Is it too much to ask that you stop calling him that?” Bae asked, annoyed.

“Does he have to come? I thought you wanted family only.”

“He is family. He's been like a brother to Emma since the foster system, and he happens to be a good friend of mine, too.”

“But what about Mary Margaret? In her condition, she shouldn't be cooking for-”

“God dad, she's pregnant. She's not dying. And she said it's fine, that it'll keep her occupied.”

“But does he _have_ to?” Rumple insisted, his voice bordering on whiny. He'd always found August Booth to be an unsavory person. The thought of having him around during such a private moment was a little hard to swallow. Everything the other man wanted to do was talk about himself, his books, and his trips, usually in a condescending tone.

Bae argued, “I am turning his best seller into a graphic novel, dad. Of course he has to come. He's an old friend, and this can turn out to be a very lucrative partnership.”

“Right.”

“And Belle is coming, too. She's just as much our family as August is.”

“I still like her better,” he muttered.

“Dad...”

“Fine, I'll behave. I'll retire to a corner with David and pretend he's not there.”

“Now, was that so hard?”

“Don't patronize your father.”

Bae chuckled. “I can do whatever I want. I am officially a grown-up.”

“Not before tomorrow, you're not.”

“And how about Belle? Was it difficult to drive her here?”

“Nonsense, she's a great co-pilot.”

“I meant because of mom.”

Rumple nodded. “Right. No. All is fine.”

“Are you sure mom won't, you know, react _badly_ to her being here?” Bae said, treading carefully. “I know Belle is not her favorite person right now.”

“I can handle your mother.”

“I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to.”

Rumple drummed his fingers on the handle of his cane.

“I'm not trying to start a fight,” Bae said, defensive.

Rumple answered, “I know. You're worried. Don't be. There's no reason. I don't think your mother really cares.”

“What do you mean?”

Rumple looked at his son, who was regarding him with curiosity, but shook his head. “It means that I'm tired and grumpy and I want an early dinner. Come on, it's not polite to keep your guests waiting. Any grown-up would know that.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a moment with Henry, the interrogator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jess prompted: How about some more awkward moments with Henry the interrogator.  
> Of_Princes_and_Savages prompted: 1. Sic Agent Henry there on Belle with the same "Is Grandpa your boyfriend?" questions.

The last time Belle had seen Neal's artwork, it had been over a decade ago. And though Neal was certainly talented from an early age, his current work was much more refined, and he had a whole wall of drawings to prove it.

“This is so beautiful,” she said, looking at the pictures that surrounded his drawing table. “Are these all for the same book?”

“More or less,” Emma answered. “These are all just trial versions, actually. For the graphic novel.”

Belle was impressed. There were about fifty pictures on the wall, covering it from top to bottom and side to side. The subject varied from several characters, locations and sketches of what Belle assumed to be magical artifacts.

“This is only for trial?”

“I know. He is very thorough.”

“I'll say. I can't even remember Neal doing his homework when we were at school.”

Emma laughed. “Are you telling me my boyfriend actually matured? Because he spends so much time playing video game with Henry I was starting to have my doubts.”

“He's always been a fan of the arcade. I'm sure Graham told you all about it.”

“I'd love to hear some of these stories from your point of view, actually. Those two are as thick as thieves.”

Belle gave her a smirk. “Are you asking me for dirt, Emma?”

“I wouldn't say that. But I also... wouldn't... say that. So... I'm afraid you'll have to share accommodations with his drawing table.” She opened her arms, indicating the room, which was also furnished with a futon and a small dresser. “Sorry there isn't much space. You're more than welcome to put your things on the table, though. Neal won't be using it this weekend.”

“It's more than enough. I'd have been fine with the couch, really. It's only two nights. Are you absolutely _sure_ he won't be needing to work?”

“I am. His birthday usually goes like this: celebratory poutine dinner on Friday, getting drunk on Saturday, and then regretting poor decisions on Sunday.”

“Rumple did warn me about the poutine.”

Emma grimaced. “Yes. Never date a man who spent a summer in Canada.” The cellphone in her pocket started ringing. “Sorry, it's my mom. But you just unpack and make yourself at home.”

“Ok. Thank you, Emma, really. You're a savior.”

Emma dismissed her compliment with the wave of a hand, already answering the phone and leaving the room. Belle looked at the wall again. Those did look beautiful. Maybe she could guess what book they were from.

“Are you grandad's girlfriend?”

Belle whipped around. Henry was at the door, looking at her.

“Uhm, what?” she said, a little lost. Belle hadn't really talked to Henry since they arrived. She had shaken his hand and tried to engage in conversation about New York, but he dodged her questions with vague answers, probably bored of the city already.

“Like, are you dating?” he repeated, entering the room and sitting on the futon.

“I... no. I'm just his friend. And your father's friend.”

“Grandad never brings friends.”

“Well, it's a special occasion. It's his birthday, after all. Are you excited about your dad's birthday?”

“I guess. Is it okay if I ask how old you are?”

“Sorry?”

“Grandad said it's rude to ask women how old they are.”

“Oh. No. It's fine. I'm, uhm, I'm twenty eight.”

Henry frowned. “You _are_ younger than the secretary.”

“I'm sorry, I am what?”

“Do you like my grandad?”

“I got you something!” Belle announced, picking up her suitcase and slamming it on the futon before Henry could ask another question. Off came the books, the clothes, two make-up bags- god, she had to learn how to pack better.

Henry, however, had dropped the questions and had jumped to his knees, leaning into her suitcase full of curiosity. “You got me a present? _Really_?”

“I did.”

“But it's dad's birthday!”

“Well, I thought you might like something. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but- _here it is_!”

She pulled a notebook from the bottom of her suitcase, hurriedly. The flowery bra that had been lying on top of it went flying, but Henry didn't even look at it, much to her relief.

“There you go.”

“Wow!” he said, taking the notebook from her hand and giving her a large smile. “This is _awesome_ , Belle! Thank you!”

“You're welcome, Henry,” she breathed. “Your grandpa said you like notebooks. You want to be a writer someday?”

“I do. This looks really old,” Henry said, flipping through his present.

“I can find you a new one, if you'd like.”

“No! Old is _awesome_!”

Belle smiled, satisfied with herself. Truth be told, it wasn't old, or expensive, but she thought he might like the leather binding. It looked like something out of a movie.

Henry looked up at her, examined her for a second, then said, “You know, if you _were_ grandad's girlfriend, I'd be fine with it.”

“Henry,” Emma called, coming to the door. “Stop bothering poor Belle, she's just settling in.”

“Look, mom. She got me a new notebook.”

“And did you thank her for it?”

“Yes, he is quite the gentleman,” Belle said.

“Then go put it away and help your father with dinner.”

“Okay. Thanks Belle.”

He rushed out of the room. Emma came back in.

“Sorry, he put it in his head that you must be his secret girlfriend, or something.”

 _Him and Betty should start a club_ , Belle thought.

Out loud, she said, “Oh well, he's a writer. I suppose he's bound to be creative.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: When Belle and Rumple arrive in New York, they've developed some inside jokes, and Emma and/or Neal notices.

Emma could sniff out a lie. It was a result of five years working as a detective, being a mother, and being a good liar herself. Henry actually believed she had a superpower. Neal sometimes wondered if Henry wasn't right. You simply couldn't lie to Emma Swan.

Not that anybody was actively trying to, at the moment. Not really. She was probably seeing things.

Probably.

She didn't know Belle, though Neal had described her as “funny, quiet, a bit of a nerd.” He spoke of her just as fondly as when he spoke of Graham, which implied there was a lot of trust between the two of them, despite the estrangement. It felt nice to know he had a few good childhood memories; sometimes, Emma got the impression his parents had consumed most of his youth, one way or another.

Belle offered to help her set up the table, but Emma said she should sit down and relax. It had been a long trip and what kind of hostess would she be if she enslaved the poor woman as soon as she walked into her house?

Not that Henry was very keen on the relaxation idea. He sat down with Belle at the kitchen table and started ranting away.

“I heard they have birds that attack people in Australia,” he said. “Like, you have to run to your car or they will poke out your eyes. And cockroaches the size of your hands.”

“What a lovely topic of discussion before dinner,” Neal said, stirring the gravy on the stove.

Rumple, who had been tasked with cutting the potatoes, looked up from his work, but didn't add anything to the conversation.

“There was a time when everything people knew about Australia was that we have koala bears and kangaroos,” Belle said. “What happened to that?”

Neal looked over his shoulder, “Oh, but that is _so_ 1990s, Belle.”

“Did you take pictures of anything scary?” Henry asked, eagerly.

“I'm not that brave. I don't even kill the big spiders.”

“Dad doesn't kill spiders, either. Mom does that.”

“Ah ah ah!” Neal said, defensive, pointing the spoon at his son. “But who cooks in this house? You're all welcome. If we had to rely on your mother's cooking-”

From the other side of the wall, Emma shouted, “Think very carefully how you want to finish this sentence, Neal Cassidy!”

“You'd have delicious pancakes and bacon every day!” he shouted back. Then to Belle, “But seriously, that is all she can cook.”

Rumple grimaced. “And even so, _barely_.”

“And how is the poutine I was promised?” Belle asked.

“Amazing.”

“You're overselling it,” Rumple said.

“Dad doesn't believe in the power of poutine.”

“Why did I ever let you go to Canada? It was bad enough that you grew up all... American.”

“Don't complain. I only make it for special occasions.”

“Everything is a special occasion to you, dad,” Henry pointed out.

“Well, it's my birthday, so it's my menu.”

Emma came into the kitchen, called him, “Petulant,” and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “That does smell good, though.”

“Of course it does. Because your boyfriend is an amazing cook.”

“If your boyfriend was an amazing cook, Emma,” Rumple said, “he'd know that chips and bacon are not a real meal.”

“It's fries, grandad!”

Rumple waved a hand at Henry, “Yes, that.”

“There's cheese too, papa. It's like, five food groups in one meal. Healthy.”

“You keep telling yourself th-ow!”

The knife slipped his grip and rattled on the table.

Neal and Emma looked back. He asked, “You okay over there?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” he said, checking his right index finger. Emma could see a little speck of blood, but it didn't seem serious. Rumple got up to wash his hand in the sink, muttering, “I'm an idiot.”

Belle immediately pointed a finger at him.

“Ha!”

“Oh, no,” Rumple said.

“You know what you should do?”

“Don't even think about it.”

“Just once.”

“It's never just once with you.”

“What's going on?” Neal asked.

“It's nothing,” his father said.

“It's an inside joke,” Belle added. “I'll tell you over dinner.”

“I bet that's a funny story,” Neal said, eyes on the gravy again.

Emma nodded in agreement, and she was about to add something to the subject when she caught a glimpse of Rumple's face. The slightest hint of guilt that made her instincts start tingling. Not that she had never seen that expression on his face before – sometimes she wondered if he ever felt anything else – but this felt different, somehow. Perhaps it was the silence that followed, the fact that Belle had nothing to add to the conversation, or that her smile died for just the fraction of a second, before Henry said, “How about snakes? Did you see any snakes?”

“Uuhnnn...” she stuttered.

“Henry, why don't you show Belle your video games? David must have given you something new and equally noisy by now,” Rumple suggested.

“Yes!” Henry jumped off the chair and took Belle by the hand. “Come on, Belle. Do you like video games?”

“I haven't played since... forever.”

“You can't be worst than grandad.”

“It's true,” Rumple agreed. To Emma, he said, “Dear, do you mind taking over the potatoes? I'll put something on this.”

Emma sat down and watched them leave, that funny feeling in the back of her head that she had just witnessed... something. She wasn't sure what it was, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it would mean nothing but trouble.

“It's good that those two are getting close,” Neal said, seemingly oblivious to whatever it was that had happened in their kitchen. “Dad could do with more friends like Belle.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tries to figure out a schedule for the weekend. Everybody is a little too helpful.

Just as Rumple expected, Henry suggested the Central Park Zoo as soon as Belle asked him what she should visit the next day.

“It's so cool, Belle! They have seals!” he said, looking at his grandfather for support and momentarily forgetting the enormous pile of ice cream in front of him.

Rumple said, “They do have seals. And it's the Central Park. You can always just go for a walk.”

“Uh-uhn,” Bae said, shaking his spoon at them. “The public library. That's what she wants to see.”

“I have interests that don't involve books, you know?” Belle told him. “Besides, I plan to visit the library on Sunday, before I leave.”

Bae grinned. “Is that so you won't be tempted to waste your entire trip looking at books?”

“Looking at books is _never_ a waste of time. But yes.”

“Knew it. Dad should go with you, make sure you don't get lost. Or get a job at a real library.”

Belle looked at him. Rumple shrugged. “I don't mind.” He could think of worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon than exploring the New York Public Library with Belle. And Henry, of course, he'd come along, too.

“Grandad thinks the library is one of the most tolerable places in the city,” Henry told her.

Belle laughed. “You're _really_ not a fan of NYC, Rumple.”

“I just don't see what the fuss is about, that's all.”

“Aye, all those bloody New Yorkers, mate,” Bae said, the glass of wine he'd had at dinner making him bold enough to attempt a Scottish accent that only made his father flinch.

“We've talked about this, young man. No speaking in tongues.”

“What? I'm improving!”

“No, you're not!” Emma shouted, from the kitchen.

“It gets better after I have a glass of Scotch.”

“It really doesn't, dad,” Henry said, shaking his head pitifully.

Belle laughed. “Some things don't change. You've been trying this accent thing since you were, what? Ten?”

“I always thought it was so unfair that you and Graham got to keep your parents' accent and I didn't.”

“You do realize by now that accents are not genetic, right? Graham and I were actually born in another country.”

“Still!”

Emma peaked into the living room, the phone pressed to her ear. “Hey, mom wants to know if anybody else is coming.”

“No, it's just us, Belle, and August.”

She disappeared into the kitchen again.

Belle asked, “Who's August?”

“Friend of mine. He's a writer. He wrote _Puppet on a String_.”

Rumple filled his mouth with ice cream not to let the word “peacock” escape his lips again. Belle filled the silence left by his scorn by excitedly saying, “You're _kidding_! August Booth? You _know_ August Booth? I absolutely _adore_ that book! It's one of my _favorites_!”

“Oh, that's the graphic novel I'm working on. You know, the drawings on the wall?”

“You're turning _Puppet on a String_ into a graphic novel? That's amazing!”

Bae smiled, trying to be humble, but clearly proud of himself. “Well, it's not written in stone yet. But August likes what I've done so far.”

“He should. You're making the story better,” Rumple said.

“Grandad is not a fan,” Henry told her.

“Not your kind of story?”

“Not my kind of writer.”

Bae said, “Stop it, dad. We talked about this. And you!” He turned back to Belle. “You're gonna hit it off with August, I just know it. He's very well traveled, and really smart.”

Rumple scoffed, quietly, “He's going to tell you all about it, _extensively_.”

“Dad!”

“What? You know it's true.”

“Anyway, August is a great guy. Hey, if you do hit it off, maybe he can take you to the library on Sunday. He knows _everything_ there is to know about it.”

Emma came into the living room before Belle had the chance to answer that, yes, that sounded much more fun than taking his father to the library with her. Or so Rumple assumed.

“First of all, I want to say I'm terribly sorry,” Emma said, as an announcement, clutching the phone to her chest and looking at Belle like she had just dropped her favorite book in a mud puddle.

Belle said, “Uhn, okay, you're forgiven.”

“But my mom just found out you've never been to New York City and she's nagging me to let her take you outlet shopping tomorrow morning.”

From the phone Emma was holding, an indignant voice protested, “I don't nag!”

“She's got a whole schedule she's ready to pitch. Please, feel free to say no. Nobody will be offended.”

Bae chuckled. “Told ya you should have waited 'til tomorrow to call her.”

“No, c'mon, that sounds fun,” Belle said. “Can I talk to her?”

Belle went into the kitchen to talk to Mary Margaret.

Emma sat down next to Bae and said, “If mom doesn't let her go in five minutes, I'll come to her rescue.”

“Don't worry, my dear,” Rumple said. “Belle is a brave woman. And where are you going?”

“I'm gonna call August,” Bae said. “Ask him to bring Belle a signed copy of his book.”

“He doesn't carry those around?” Rumple said.

“Emma, will you tell my father stop being nasty?”

“I actually think he's got a point there.”

Bae rolled his eyes. “Don't encourage him...”

Rumple leaned closer to Henry, to whisper, “The peacock is at it again.”

Henry didn't laugh.

“Don't worry, grandad,” he whispered back. “I'm sure Belle still likes you better.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bae and Rumple play chess. Based on the following prompts: from Ellynne: I thought, when Gold cut himself, something would come up about how Milah broke his hand. Could Neal and Emma seeing something about how bad the injury was be a prompt?  
> And an anonymous prompt (though only slightly): If BCD!Belle and Rumple are staying in the same apartment in Manhattan, I hope and pray that, at some point, they'll run into each other late at night, perhaps on their way to and from the bathroom. It would be delightful for those two to see each other in their jim jams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

“You're not paying attention to the game,” Bae said.

Rumple raised his eyes from the iPad screen. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, you are not paying attention to the game.”

“I am.”

“You're not.”

“I'm winning.”

“You _were_ winning. But with that move, I've just captured your queen.”

Bae swiped his finger on the screen and the little cartoon that represented Rumple's queen disappeared from the virtual board.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“It's the iPad.”

“Sore loser.”

“It just feels wrong.”

“I can go see if Belle is awake-”

“No, let her rest. No need to bother her.”

“Well, the chess set is in the studio, so unless you want me to wake her up, you're gonna have to man up and join the 21st century.”

Rumple made a disgusted sound. Playing chess like this should be outlawed. And Bae could call him a sore loser all he wanted, but he always did better with the real thing. The iPad was just too distracting. However, he could use a distraction right now. There were too many thoughts inside his head – most of them regarding his son's childhood friend, the one he had driven here, and who was making an effort to be nice to him, and who didn't deserve to be caught in Milah's rage just because he'd decided to tell a lie.

“And now I got your knight,” Bae announced, full of glee. No matter how many times they played that game, he always felt proud of himself when he managed to beat his old man. Not that it happened very often.

“Maybe you're right,” Rumple said. “Maybe I'm not paying attention.”

“Thought so.”

“How about we start over?”

“Ha!”

Rumple gave his son a smirk. “Can't blame a man for trying.”

“You can always say it's the hand.”

“What, this?” Rumple picked at the band aid with his thumb. “It's nothing. It's just a small cut.”

“Or the fracture,” Bae suggested, keeping his tone as non-confrontational as possible. His father nodded, recognizing the implied question ( _Is it okay that we talk about that?_ ), but vetoing the conversation before it even started.

“You've been practicing,” he said. “That's probably the reason.”

Bae paused, staring at the digital board in concentration. It wasn't unusual for Bae to bring up the difficult subjects over a game of chess, when Emma and Henry had gone to bed already and they were alone. More than once Rumple had excused himself before the fight escalated, but he hoped he wouldn't have to do that tonight.

“I assume mom sent me a present,” Bae said, moving his bishop absentmindedly.

“She did,” Rumple answered, cautiously. Whenever he brought up Milah they were wandering into dangerous territory.

“What is it this time?”

“A pair of running shoes. I mentioned Emma is making you exercise again.”

Bae watched him play in silence. Three movements later, he said, “I don't want it.”

Rumple leaned back on his chair, sighing. “I thought you were going to say that.” They had slowly been getting to this point. It wasn't like Bae ever used any of the things that Milah sent him. She put a lot of thought into her gifts, and she was surprisingly good at guessing what Baelfire wanted or needed, taking into consideration that they hadn't had a real conversation in years. But most presents just stayed at the back of his closet, untouched. Some of the most expensive gifts got passed along. But this was the first time he flat out refused to even open the box.

“You can tell mom I took it, if it means you won't have a row, but I'm not going to,” Bae said, his voice soft. He didn't want to start a fight, but he was resolute. “And I know you probably think I'm being petty-”

“I don't think you're being petty,” he said. “I'm just worried.”

“Like I said, you can tell her I took it, if it makes it easier-”

“I'm worried because I know what it's like to be estranged from a parent.”

Bae looked at him over the iPad, the game momentarily forgotten.

“I just don't want you to regret it, that's all,” Rumple said. “I did. And trust me, my father was more of a bastard to me than your mother ever was to you.”

“I think that's debatable,” Bae said, looking down again. “But I'll take your word for it. Check.”

“Check what?”

Bae raised his eyes and gave him the faintest smile. He said, “The game.” Letting his father know that the conversation was over.

“Oh, that,” Rumple said, looking at the screen.

“You see, you're not very good at multitasking. I, on the other hand, can talk and play at the same-”

“Check mate.”

Bae stopped talking and stared at him. The smug look on his father's face made it clear before he even looked at the board that he'd lost the match.

“How did you even do this?!”

Rumple shrugged. “Multitasking, according to you.”

“But you only have three pawns and a horse!”

“Seems that was enough.”

“Goddammit!”

“Did he just lose?” someone asked.

Rumple looked up while Bae was too busy trying to figure out how his king ended up surrounded by seemingly harmless little pawns. From the door, Belle was looking at them with curiosity. She had traded her dress for jogging pants and a large t-shirt and her hair was down.

“He's always been a sore loser,” she said.

Bae turned around. “I remember how competitive you could get at the arcade, missy. So don't start with me.”

“Do you need anything, my dear?” Rumple asked.

Belle shook her head. “I just wanted a glass of water. Had I known you guys were still up, I'd have put on something decent.”

“Nonsense, you look...” he searched his mind for a fitting word, but they all seemed improper to say to a young, single lady in her pajamas, especially in front of his son. “You look very appropriate.”

Bae didn't even look up from the game. Belle gave him a tiny smile.

“What are you guys playing?” she asked, coming closer.

“Chess.”

“ _Virtual_ chess,” Rumple corrected, with a crinkle on his nose that made his disapproval clear.

Belle looked at the iPad and winced as well. “Yes, that's not as good as the real thing- you lost to three pawns and a horse?”

Rumple laughed.

Bae got up. “I'm going to bed, and I'm taking my iPad with me.”

“That's too bad,” Belle said. “I was going to ask if the winner wanted to face me.”

Rumple got ready to shrug and say, “Oh, well, that's too bad. Maybe next time.” He didn't have to spend any more time with Belle than he already had – _that_ wouldn't be appropriate. No matter that there was a stubborn voice in the back of his mind begging him for just one game, just so he could show off a little bit.

But before he got the chance to open his mouth, Bae said, “You old people can use the chess set in the studio, I'm out.”

When he was gone, Belle looked at him with a suggestive smile. “So, you on?”

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Margaret and Belle go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to apologize for taking so long to update this. As it turned out, I was the one who needed a break from this story. Now it's finally back and it should come to its conclusion soon.

“Did you find anything you like?”

Belle looked at herself in the mirror and crinkled her nose. The color red would look sexy on most women but she never felt like she could pull it off. There was something about it that just screamed of “trying too hard”. Ruby could flounce it as much as she wanted, but Belle usually stuck to shades of yellow and blue – or, as they were commonly known, the boring colors. Colors that were befitting for a librarian.

“How appropriate,” she sighed, disappointed at her own reflection.

“Belle?” Mary Margaret's voice insisted, knocking on the door.

“No, not yet,” she said.

“In case you want a second opinion, I'll be right here.”

Emma had warned her that her mother would fuss about and go out of her way to make Belle feel welcomed to the big city. There was something maternal about her, perhaps due to the fact the she was heavily pregnant, or perhaps that had always been her way. She'd spent the entire morning both looking for baby clothes and helping Belle find good deals that fit her limited budget. While the two pairs of shoes and the new handbag had been easy decisions once Belle allowed herself to indulge, a new dress was proving to be a challenge.

“Did you try the blue one?” she asked, through the fitting room door.

“Everything I have is blue.”

Mary Margaret hummed as she thought. “Hmm... are you looking for something casual, sexy?”

“Just something that I could wear tonight.”

“August is coming tonight, you know,” the other woman said. She didn't add, “And he's single!” but her voice was so insinuating that she might as well have.

“Yes, but... it doesn't have to- I'll try the blue one.”

“Okay then.”

Belle pulled the red cocktail dress over her head. She didn't need a new outfit, good deals be damned. Neal's birthday party was supposed to be a very informal gathering. There was only one reason to find a new outfit and that was to get someone else's attention – and that someone was definitely not August Booth.

 _Just stick with blue_ , she told herself. _Boring blue. Blue that isn't asking for trouble. Homewreckers don't wear blue_.

Yes. Homewreckers took trips with married men behind their wives' back. That was what homewreckers did.

“Belle, I think I found something you might like,” Mary Margaret said, interrupting her train of thought.

“No, it's fine, I think I'll get the blue one.”

“You sure you don't want to try it? This one is _really_ cute.”

“I... well, there's no harm in looking, I suppose.”

She cracked the door open and Mary Margaret passed her the dress she'd found.

Oh.

That was... the opposite of “not asking for trouble”.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma didn't like to assume the worst.

Emma didn't like to assume the worst.

No. That was actually not true. It was her job to assume the worst. But when it came down to family, she'd much rather stick to giving people the benefit of the doubt, innocent 'til proven guilty, and all those good things the Police Department beat out of her a long time ago.

Emma crossed her arms and leaned on the yellow bug. She wished her mother was better at keeping up with their schedule. Standing in the parking lot with nothing to do only made her thoughts go places she was trying to avoid.

She had no proof that anything illicit was happening under her roof. As far as she knew, Mr. Gold was only giving an old friend a ride. Mr. Gold might have his faults, but no one could accuse him of being unfaithful to Neal's mother, as far as she could tell.

But there was something there. It was in the way Belle seemed to be trying very hard not to look at him too much, or the way Gold's mouth twisted with something akin to jealousy every time Neal brought up August's name in a conversation.

God, the fact that Gold had gotten Milah's blessing to this road trip was inexplicable. She was a controlling woman and her cries of jealousy kept her husband on a tight leash. The night before, she mused about it with Neal, and her boyfriend said, “I think they had a fight, but I don't know. I don't really know how to bring it up, given what happened last time.”

“Yes,” Emma said. “You're right. We should tread carefully.”

The last thing that they needed was a repeat of that mess.

Not that Emma would disapprove of an affair, all things considered. It might be the thing to actually push the old man away from that detestable woman, even if it was far from being an ideal solution.

Belle was what gave her pause. If Gold was looking to make the situation even more complicated, he couldn't have chosen a woman more unsuitable for an extramarital affair than his son's childhood friend. Neal would not take the news well, if she was right. He viewed her so much like a sister it seemed unfathomable to him that anything sexual could happen between his father and Belle. Had this been any other woman, he might have seen the signs too.

Or perhaps she was being a negative bitch, looking for malice where there was none.

 _I need a second opinion, a fresh pair of eyes_ , she thought. Graham's face and name came to her immediately. He lived in the same town as them and knew Belle just as long as Neal did. He would be able to tell her if she was seeing things. But not tonight. Let Neal enjoy his birthday, and then she'd deal with it.

“Hey sweetie,” her mother said, finally coming to meet her. “Will you please tell Belle that she doesn't have to act like a bellboy?”

“You shouldn't be making physical effort,” Belle said, each arm carrying at least three plastic bags.

“Mom,” Emma said, coming to Belle's rescue, “my little brother already has enough clothes. Seriously, you're going to spoil him.”

“Of course I will. I spoiled you, now I'm going to do the same for your brother.”

“I think that's sweet, Mary Margaret,” Belle said. “I'd probably do the same if I had a baby”

“You see, Emma? Belle thinks that I am reasonably sane.”

“Indeed, and I am a certified librarian,” Belle said. “Everyone knows librarians are smart.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “You're delightful, you know that? It's a pity you can't stay the week.”

Emma opened the small trunk of the car and scratched her head. “Okay, this is going to be a pain.”

“Leave Belle's bag on top, honey. If she takes the wrong one home, she might have nothing to wear.”

“You got a new outfit? That's nice.”

“Oh yes,” Mary Margaret said, with a teasing smile. “It's very sexy. Should attract a lot of attention. I wish I had the figure to wear that.”

Emma looked at Belle.

She was turning red. Not the embarrassing “oh god, friend's mom! Don't say that!” kind of red. A guilty kind, one that made her lower her eyes and kill the subject before it could even begin.

 _I'm seeing things,_ Emma told herself. _I'm seeing things_ _and nothing's happening and oh god please let me be wrong about this._

 

 


End file.
